


Numenor Drabbles

by astorey_91



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-03-17 05:15:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13652169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/astorey_91/pseuds/astorey_91
Summary: Some short Numenor drabbles here. I plan on focusing on mainly the time during Ar-Pharazon's reign with these.*****Chapter 4+5 are now up as of 02/02/2019!!!!! *******





	1. The Golden King and The Zigûr

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! My plan is to write many more short fics about Numenor. This first one deals with a moment taking place close to when Sauron is brought to Numenor. He has just been made advisor to the king. Warning for: Bare butts and sexual humor. This is also posted on my tumblr as well. Thank you for reading! :)

          The royal carriage made its way through the crowd to the center square. Inside sat the king Ar-Pharazon and his formidable advisor, who was non too pleased. Ar-Pharazon waved to the excited crowd. People parted so as not to be trampled by the horses. The large square was decorated with colored flowers of various types. Ribbons were tied to anything that would hold them. Musicians played music of a fast tempo, and couples danced with wild abandon. The celebration commemorated the begetting day of the king himself. Tar-Miriel was also required to attend, but steadfastly refused. And so, the king commanded that Mairon take her place. As the king exited the carriage, men and women bowed their heads. Mairon followed the king to where he was to be seated during the entertainment planned. The guards followed soon after. The music silenced. Ar-Pharazon took his customary seat under an ornate awning that was facing what was supposed to be a stage. A red curtain was drawn across it.

          “By the Gods, it is hot. Wine!” A servant standing close by nearly tripped over himself at the command. When he returned, the king snatched the goblet away. In one gulp, he downed it’s contents. The king thrust the cup into Mairon’s hands. Once the king was comfortable, the crowd pushed and shoved to get a good viewing spot. A short man in motley, bells clinking, walked on stage and addressed the king.

          “O Lord King Ar-Pharazon,” the man began, “it is an honor that you would grace us lowly people with your presence this day.” His bow was deep. Mairon who stood just behind the king’s throne, glared at the little man.

          “And what have you prepared for me this day?” Ar-Pharazon asked.

          “My troupe has traveled a great distance to be in this beautiful city of Armenelos, and have myself written a performance worthy of your highness’ viewing pleasure.” The man in motley backed away, bells jingling. “This little drama is titled ‘The Golden King and the Zigûr’. Mairon realized that the Zigûr in the title referred to himself. A group of ten people dressed in armor walked out. Music began, played on various fluted and stringed instruments. One of the actors was dressed in a crudely made version of the king’s golden armor, as well as a helm. The other actors took their place behind the actor-king, standing in a row.

          “Behold, Middle Earth is mine to conquer and mine to own!” the actor-king cried, waving a spear prop through the air. The crowd cheered, and the musicians played a triumphant march. The scenery was changed hastily to represent the long trek that the army had made to Mordor. A copy of Barad-dûr was quickly pushed out. “Lord of the Black Land!” he called. “I demand you come forth and bend the knee!.” A flourish of flutes. “Declare me as the true king of Middle Earth!” The crowd chanted the king’s name. “Show your face you coward, Morgoth’s whore!” At that, a thin man with buck teeth and a blond wig, black robes hiked up around his thighs, came out. A second followed (wearing a bad copy of Melkor’s own crown, Silmarills and all), and bent the actor-Mairon over.

          “Mor-mor-mor-goths who-who-whore.” the actor-Mairon said as he bounced against the actor’s crotch, and moaned loudly for dramatic effect. Mairon felt his eye twitch. Not with embarrassment, oh no, he was beyond such mortal emotions as that. But of anger. His hands clenched around the goblet. _How dare these insignificant dolts make a mockery not only of him, but of his Master! They would never understand._ The audience laughed and pointed and threw things at the stage. Even the king found it amusing, drinking down another cup of wine. To Mairon’s displeasure, the entirety of the play was done with this actor-Mairon pretending to be fucked up the backside. Finally, at the conclusion of the performance, the “Golden King” used his sword to vanquish the Zigûr. The crowd clapped as the black-clad actor staggered, grasping at his chest.

          “I go to the Void to join my horrifying master!” he cried, and fell face forward wth a loud thunk. The actor king moved front and center stage, and, in an effort to humiliate the Zigûr even further, put his foot to the actor-Mairon’s still bare butt. “I have conquered the darkness that has plagued the land for so long!” he cried. “Golden Numenor, revel in this day!” The actor-king brought a fist to his armored chest. Ar-Pharazon stood from his throne and clapped along with the rest. Golden King, they did yell. Mairon did his best to try to hide his rage. When _he_ ruled Numenor, these humiliations towards himself would be the first to go. When _he_ ruled, these actors would be the first to be slaughtered. When _he_ ruled, Ar-Pharazon would be in his place, the “Golden King” no more.


	2. Of the Desire of Kings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ar-Pharazon summons Sauron to his chambers

The palace was quiet, all had taken to their chambers for the night after an evening of revelry. Ar-Pharazon the Golden, King of Numenor and, by extension, Middle Earth, had returned from hisjourney. There had been food and drink and delights beyond imagination to celebrate the return of their ruler. However, it was not this revelry that made Pharazon smile this evening. Having that maia on a leash was what made his face glow. A maia. One of the Holy Ones, now belonged entirely to him. And it was this very maia that was now called to the king’s chambers.

 

Pharazon reclined on a large pile of silk pillows, feet up in repose. As he awaited the arrival of the maia, his mind wandered. Oh, so many things he would do to that one. It had been immediately apparent that there was more to this “Annatar” that was originally believed. Upon first laying eyes upon Annatar had brought his breath to a halt. The long golden hair, smooth skin, the bright eyes of one who had been created before the world. Pharazon wanted that creature, with every fiber of his being. On the morrow, he would parade that one in the streets on a chord of gold and gem. _Before all of my subjects, Annatar will kneel to Numenorean might._ The king lifted a gem encrusted goblet to his lips, taking a long swallow of red wine. He imagined Annatar dripping with fine jewelry, laying among silks and cushions…beckoning to him with one hand, whispering.

 

_Ar-Pharazon. My Golden King. I shall serve you in all ways…_

 

The king chuckled and took another sip. So many possibilities were before him now. That one was indeed slippery. Calling himself “King of Middle Earth”. Taking the title that was rightfully his!How dare he?! He deserved to be in chains. Jailed, even? No. Humiliation was the way of it. Perhaps, when he had finished leading Annatar around, he would be put in the stocks, every stitch of clothing gone from Annatar’s person. Pharazon laughed aloud at the idea of the common people throwing garbage at the once proud maia, jeering at him. Once his people had had their fill of seeing Annatar brought low, then, and only then, would Pharazon be merciful and allow him back to the palace. Annatar would kiss his feet and swear fealty to him then and there, thanking the king for being so just and merciful. The maia would then be told to sit at his feet, cuffed with ornate manacles, ready to fulfill the needs of the king. The nights, of course, would be another matter entirely. Willingly, Annatar would spread his legs, ready to receive Pharazon… He rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

 

A knock at the door brought Ar-Pharazon out of his imaginings.

 

“You may enter.” the king said in response. The object of his lust entered the room silently.

 

“You summoned me, my king?”

 

“Yes.” Ar-Pharazon motioned for Annatar to enter. “Bow to me.” The maia slowly dropped to his knees and did as commanded. Roughly, the king grabbed Annatar’s chin, fondling the beautiful face.

 

“How does it feel?”

 

“I do not understand.”

 

“How does it feel to bow to a true king of Men, Annatar?” The maia did not respond. The king’s hand now moved to the slender neck, and went lower still. _Gods, he was beautiful._ Pharazon suddenly got to his feet, pulling Annatar up as well. _That grace. Beauty. The perfectly formed face. Lithe body._ His head was now swimming from the wine that he had consumed . The perfection of the maia overwhelmed the mind of the king. It was all too much. He threw all thought of rational action to the wind, pressing his lips to those of Annatar. Pulling away, Pharazon whispered:

 

“I want it, Annatar.”

 

“What do you desire, Golden King? For I will give it thee.” The king looked into the fiery eyes, losing himself in them.

 

“I want it all. Middle Earth. The Land of the Deathless. Valinor. And…” Pharazon said breathlessly.

 

“‘And’, my king?” The king grabbed Annatar’s head, one hand on each side.

 

“What do you see?” the king asked.

 

“I see a truly great king, destined to venture farther than any of his forefathers.” Pharazon laughed.

 

“No, Annatar, look at my face. See not the lines that have formed there, around the mouth and eyes? The graying of my hair? I am old! And your youthful countenance, it is taunting me! Take this sickness from me, Annatar! The sickness of age!” A smile formed on the maia’s pretty lips.

 

“Your will be done, lord king.” And Annatar returned the kiss.


	3. How the Mighty Have Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ar-Pharazon demands a dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was just a random thing I've been wanting to write for a long time.
> 
>  
> 
> Music inspiration for this chapter:
> 
> Isis Pool-Bruno Nicolai

The banquet hall was loud with the sounds of drunken excess, ruckus laughter and pleasure.Sumptuous food crowded the tables, to the point that certain dishes had to be taken away to make room for more. The noble guests felt no obligation to hold back, and so, with plates piled high, they glut themselves. At the head of it all, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden presided. A goblet of wine in one hand, a roasted chicken leg in the other, the king of Numenor roared with laughter at one of his counselor’s jokes. He took a deep swallow of wine and, swaying, rose from his throne.

 

“Exalted Lords and Ladies of Numenor, I bid you welcome to this glorious feast.” Ar-Pharazôn began, and the room erupted in cheers. “I trust that you have all been enjoying yourselves this evening. Well, there is certainly more to come. A night of revels is before you, my friends! Pleasures beyond your comprehension.” The nobles looking upon Ar-Pharazôn with expressions of awe and suppressed curiosity. Gesturing with the chicken leg, the king continued:

 

“Many of you standing before me had the honor of witnessing the cowardice of the ‘Dark Lord’ before the might and armament of our country. Falling onto his knees, the Dark Lord begged to be spared. I, of course, being the merciful king that I am, payed heed to his pleadings. ‘I shall spare you, Dark One, but on one condition’ I said to him. In chains I brought him here, for all to see. And now, see how one so powerful and mighty has fallen.” Pharazôn again pointed with the greasy leg of chicken. The large ornate door at the other end of the hall opened. In strode a group of armed soldiers. Behind them, in chains of gold, was the Dark Lord Sauron. All eyes turned to look upon the spectacle before them.

 

Sauron was brought before the dais, where he was pushed down to one knee. Ar-Pharazôn’s eyes slowly moved over the maia’s nearly naked form. Gone were the black and red robes that he had worn, to be replaced by the garb of a dancer. A belt of gold and gems hung around his hips, that made a rhythmic clinking sound as he walked. Long strands of golden thread hung down in loops, showing off the contours of his long legs. The king felt his insides flutter and ripple at the sight of it, and he smirked.

 

“I shall go down in the annals of history as being the only king of Numenor to have one of the Holy Ones under his command. See that it is written!.” The loud cheers began again. “Dance for me, Maia, or I shall see your head on a pike at the gates of my palace!” Losing all sense of decorum, the king dumped the remaining wine in his goblet over the Maia. The deep red of the liquid dripped from the ends of Sauron’s silver hair. It pooled on the marble floor, like blood. Sauron was jerked to his feet. Pharazôn, too far gone in his drink, did not see the flicker of hatred that appeared on Sauron’s face. The guards unlocked the chains, freeing his wrists. 

 

“You heard me, Maia. Dance! Dance, I say!” The king yelled.

 

The music began. The drums were heavy and rhythmic. Fluted interments followed, playing the undertone of a harmony. Lastly came the light and airy strings, the melody seeming to float and swim upon the air. And with that, Sauron did as commanded. He danced. Hips moving in an oddly sensual way.He arced his arms through the air around him, holding them in geometrical formation in conjunction with the music. Lifting a graceful leg up, revealing the pale skin. Swirling in circles with the music, Sauron captivated the entire room with his movements, even the eyes of the king. Pharazôn felt that he could not look away. His vision suddenly felt unfocused as he beheld the Maia. A voice in the back of his mind said a warning, but it went ignored. _It must be the wine._

 

When the music ended, the spell that had been woven by Sauron was broken. There was an oppressive silence, like that of waking from sleep, until the king finally spoke, saying:

 

“Bring this creature to his cell! Perhaps, if he behaves, we shall have him dance for us again.” Again, Sauron was shackled and lead away. The cries of the Numenoreans were loud.

 

“Hail, Ar-Pharazôn the Golden! King of Middle Earth! Hail! Hail!” A servant filled the king’s goblet to the brim.

 

“Glory to Numenor!” Ar-Pharazon called, his words slurring as he let himself fall into a drunken stupor.


	4. The Death of a King

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a random au idea that I had, for Sauron being able to get revenge for all of the terrible treatment that he received at the hands of Ar Pharazon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty bloody chapter, so if that bothers you, don't read :). Also involves character death as well. Again, this is just an au, where Sauron gets his revenge in a different way. Very canon divergent. I don't think this chapter is very good, but I tried :).

Ar-Pharazôn’s would, quite often, frequent the royal baths when he was not doing his “kingly duties”. They were private, only used by the nobles staying in the palace at Armenelos. These baths, in comparison to those used by the commonfolk, were lavishly decorated, the floors covered with blue tiles. An open air ceiling allowed the king to enjoy a view of the normally blue and cloudless sky. The water that filled the baths was brilliant aqua, and winked brightly in the sun. And this is where the king found himself now, followed by two loyal servants, and one that was not so loyal. 

 

“Sauron, how goes it with these so called ‘Faithful’”, Pharazôn asked, heading towards the largest pool. “Gods how I despise them.” The king unashamedly removed his robe, shoving it into Sauron’s hands, while the other two servants stood at the ready with fluffy towels.

 

“They continue to be quite irksome, your highness.” Sauron replied, calmly folding the robe. “If I may suggest something, majesty…” Pharazôn quickly descended the steps into the water, making loud sloshing sounds.

 

“Yes yes, go on.”

 

“If I may say, these annoying _pests_ should be…taken care of, before they grow in power among the people.” continued Sauron, hands clenched slightly in the soft fabric of the robe.The king splashed water over his face as he listened. “It would not do well to have them rise up against you, my king. Do you not think that right?” Pharazôn paused for a moment in the washing of his hair, and seemed to think on what Sauron had proposed.

 

“And how would one go about this, counselor?” An almost unnoticeable smirk appeared on Sauron’s lips.

 

“Well, your highness, there are many ways that this could be accomplished.” Sauron began. Ar-Pharazôn continued to listen, but his mind wandered. Images of the Maia naked in he bathes with him formed in his mind. The king wondered, what did he look like under all of that clothing? Was he… _well formed_?

 

“This sort of talk bores me. Join me in the water, won’t you?” The countenance of the king suddenly changed. Lust clouded his eyes as he watched Sauron shift in seeming discomfort at his request. Pharazôn snapped his fingers at the two servants.

 

“You two, help my counselor with his robes.” The two hesitated, but soon complied, the king’s scowlbeing too much for them to handle. They moved towards Sauron, who had an equally threatening glower on his face. _Touch me, you fools, and you will die._ The two men cornered the maia so that his heels touched the edge of the pool. One lunged towards him, taking hold of one sleeve. The other went for the high collar. To Ar-Pharazôn, Sauron’s lack of protest read as submission. However, something suddenly changed. A heavy tension formed in the steamy air.

 

“No.” Sauron went to push the hands away, but lost his footing. There was a loud splash as Sauron was shoved into the pool, clothes and all. There was an astonished silence, broken soon by the king’s loud laughter. How very humorous! He pointed a fat finger at the Maia, who was pushing locks of wet hair out of his eyes. On and on Pharazôn howled, barely taking a breath. The two servants stood to the side, too afraid to move.

 

The tension broke. Sauron moved like a shadow. The king had no time to even notice that the Maia had left his original location. First he was there, looking like a wet dog that just come out of the rain. And then, in the blink of an eye, he was face to face with Ar-Pharazôn. A dagger plunged deep into the king’s chest. He no longer laughed.

 

“How dare you laugh at me, disgusting Numenorean pig!” Sauron said quietly, seething with anger. The Maia’s eyes, once a calm golden color, now burned with pure hatred. In a quick movement, Sauron pulled the dagger out, blood staining the water. Pharazôn clutched at the wound to attempt to stay the bleeding.

 

“Gua-guards!” the king gurgled, but the two servants just stood by, obviously horrified by the scene before them. “You fools! Get help! Now!!” But Sauron was on him again, stabbing again and again and again. Over and over the dagger ripped through flesh until, finally, Ar-Pharazôn’s body floated limply in the bloody water. The dagger sticking out of his back left there as a warning. To anyone. Everyone.

 

***

 

Sauron slowly climbed out of the tainted water, still dripping with red, turning to the two men who watched, terrified. Even soaking wet, Sauron still had a formidable presence. A calmness had once again taken over the Maia’s features.

 

“Tell all what you have witnessed. Tell the court that it is I who rule here now. I am Tar-Mairon, ruler of the Earth. And all shall bow to me.” Shaking, the two men bowed and went to leave. Sauron stopped them.

 

“Get this wretch out of my sight.” Sauron said, and pointed to the floating corpse of Pharazôn. “Feed him to the dogs.”


	5. The Temple of Melkor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens in the Temple of Melkor, stays in the Temple of Melkor. Just a scene showing what goes on there.

The Temple of Melkor differed greatly from its sister temple that sat high up on the summit of the Meneltarma. Its walls steep and towering, a domed roof stained black by the smoke. Inside, all was dark except for the pinpricks of candle flame. A low chanting of harsh and unknown words. Smoke clogged the air, making it hard to breathe without coughing. A group of robed figures stood in a semi-circle around a black stone altar, holding flickering candles in their hands. Their eyes, transfixed on the flame, see nothing. Waiting. Waiting for their leader. A figure soon appears, silvery tresses glinting slightly in the fire. Tar-Mairon. The chanting went silent. The silver haired one said to those congregated, arms outstretched (and speaking the words of Black Speech):

 

_“My fellow followers of the Mighty Arising, I welcome you. You have chosen the right path, Numenoreans. The path of righteousness.My beloved ones, we shall make the world ready for the return of Lord Melkor. Middle Earth shall be his throne, and all shall be his subjects and bow to his will,. Elves, Men and Dwarves alike shall bend the knee. We, his favored, shall be given wondrous and splendid gifts for being his most loyal of thralls. This is his command, and may it be done._

 

_Melkor bless you all.”_

 

Upon reaching the end of his words, Tar-Mairon lowered his hands to his sides. The chanting began again, only louder this time.

 

_“Tar-Mairon, we adore you._

 

_Lord Melkor, we hold your name in reverence._

 

_Tar-Mairon, we fear you._

 

_Lord Melkor, we crave your might and power._

 

_Tar-Mairon, your light shall show us the way._

 

_Lord Melkor, in your presence we shall live._

 

_You are the flame. You are the light._

 

_To you, Lord Melkor, we give ourselves, body and soul.”_

 

 

The prayer is repeated, over and over, until the words are no longer discernible. They all begin to sway as Tar-Mairon continued to chant the holy words over a large flame that he brought to life over the altar. Once again, he raised his hands into the air, moving back and forth rhythmically. At the top of his voice, he cried:

 

“ _Tonight, my beloved ones, we show our dedication to He that has searched in the Void places for the Flame Imperishable!”_

 

Seemingly from nowhere, a dagger appeared in his hand. The chanting wavered.

 

_“Which of you, my lovelies, in the name of Lord Melkor, shall be put to the knife? Which one of you does not fear the icy claws of Death? Show your devotion, followers of the dark!”_

 

Tar-Mairon made sure to point the tip of the dagger at each of them, in turn.

 

“ _None of you, I see. Well then, let me show you what true adoration looks like.”_

 

With the flick of his hand, quicker than the eyes of the Numenoreans who watched, Tar-Mairon put blade to jugular and sliced. Beads of blood dripped from the garish wound on his throat. However, he did not cry out in pain. No. The cry was one of pleasure. The redness poured forth, seeping into the collar of his robes. And yet, through it all, he smiled. The Numenoreans went quiet,and looked on in awe at the spectacle. The Maia fell to his knees in supplication, paying no heed to the self inflicted injury.

 

“ _Lord Melkor, hear me. Hear your most trusted and keeper of your wisdom!.Come to us! Come to…come to…me!”_

 

His eyes widened, as if seeing something he found far too beautiful and overwhelming. Breath caught in his lungs. A moan escaped his lips as he uttered a single word:

 

“ _Belekoroź.* ”_

 

And, at that utterance of the ancient name, Tar-Mairon’s eyes rolled back into his head. It was all too much. The Maia fell backwards, hitting the marble floor hard. He laid there, spread eagle, and completely inert. Blood covering his face and hair. The dagger still clutched in one hand. No one moved. They dared not to. One of the Numenoreans, slightly braver then the rest of them, approached the fallen Tar-Mairon cautiously, throwing the extinguished candle to one side.

 

“Tar-….Tar-Mairon?” the single Numenorean called. “Are you quite alright.” The Maia’s gaze seemed to go straight past him. At first, there was no response. Finally, Tar-Marion spoke:

 

“Murazôr.” The Numenorean lord knelt down. Forcefully, Tar-Mairon pulled him close. There was a strange glint in his eye. The words were barely a whisper.

 

“I have seen _Him_ , Numenorean. And _He_ spoke to me. Do you know what _He_ desires?” Tar-Mairon rasped.

 

“Nuh-no, I do not know.”

 

“ _He_ craves blood.” Murazôr visibly swallowed.

 

“More blood, Tar-Mairon?” the Numenorean questioned.

 

“ _He_ wants to see the blood of the Faithful to be poured out over his altar, don’t you see?The blood of those…those elf-lovers! Now, leave me be.” Tar-Mairon pushed the man away, attempting to get to his feet. “Now go, bring me the Faithful so that I may burn their carcasses upon the fire in _His_ glory! Women, children, men, I care not. Bring them all, if you can. _In Melkor’s name you go forth, now._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belekoroz- Melkor's Valarin name. 
> 
> Murazor- I know it probably isn't canon that the Witch King was at one of these sacrifices in the Temple of Melkor, but I just figured that, since there is already canon divergence, might as well make more lol.


End file.
